Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (2 page)

If she wanted to keep that from happening, she’d better well win the damned treasure hunt.

“Have you heard anything from the police?” she said. “It’s been six weeks since Thomas was killed, and they
still
don’t have any leads?”

“Not to my knowledge. I am sorry, Ms. Randall.”

She huffed in frustration. “That’s just plain ridiculous. I’ve called that Detective McKennitt guy at least a dozen times, and he insists they’re doing everything—”

“As I believe they are, Ms. Randall,” Barlow interrupted. “Forgi
ve me, but do you have any ques
tions pertinent to Mr. Heyworth’s will or the treasu
re hunt as I have described it?
”

Mayhem. Murder. Max Galloway.
Yes. She had questions, about a kajillion of them.

But instead of badgering the poor man, she caved in to the inevitable and said, “When do we start?”

“This Saturday, the ninth,” he said. “Four days hence. The competitors—guests, I should say—will be assembled on the island by then, including Detective Galloway, should he decide to participate.”

“Why do you think Thomas invited him?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think he’ll come?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“He could get millions of dollars from a man who had hated him,” she reasoned as she rose to her feet. “Why wouldn’t he come?”

Barlow eyed her, his mouth set in a perfect smile. “Why not, indeed?”

A
few blocks down from the Port Henry ferry, Evie pulled into the private lot reserved for guests and employees of Mayhem Manor. Locking the silver BMW roadster convertible Thomas had given her for her last birthday, she slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up her suitcase, and headed for the boat that would take her out to Heyworth Island.

The hot July sun bleached the sky as she waved to the security guy who tended the small parking facility. Boarding the twenty-foot runabout docked in one of the slips, she tossed her things onto the bench behind her and started up the engine.

Twenty-five minutes ticked by as she guided the boat out of the harbor and across the bay toward the privately owned island.

For the first ten minutes she thought about how much she missed Thomas and how she wished she had him back again—just so she could read him the riot act about this dumb treasure hunt of his.

For another five she tried to move past how stunned and, yes, admittedly intrigued she was by the whole idea. What kind of clues had he left, and where?

A tingle of excitement slipped up her spine, and she had to concede a treasure hunt might be fun—if only Thomas were around to participate.

Another five minutes she devoted to the fact that he hadn’t said anything about their relationship. For fifteen years she’d suspected they had blood ties, yet he’d said nothing. Had she been fooling herself all that time? Had it all been a lonely child’s wishful thinking? Or had Thomas simply not wanted to acknowledge her publicly? Perhaps she would never know.

The remainder of the trip was spent considering the illustrious Detective Max Galloway. According to Thomas, his despised stepson was no prize. Galloway had apparently been so against Thomas’s marriage to his mother that he never set foot on Heyworth Island, not even when she lay dying.

What a creep.
Well, maybe His Arrogance would decline to attend and she wouldn’t have to deal with the jerk.

She
putt-putted
the runabout past the twin beacons at the entrance to Heyworth Island’s dock, and slipped the runabout into its moorings, tossing a line around a dock cleat. Leaving her dour thoughts behind, she grabbed her things and hurried up to the house to change.

Mayhem Manor. It was a grand place. Three stories of white clapboard, a deep, wraparound porch, and five red brick chimneys. Emerald and cream variegated ivy climbed up the many pillars of the porch, and pink roses bloomed along the rails. It looked like one of those old East Coast places where the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers summered by the
sea, the Sadies in pastel silk shifts and wide-brimmed white hats playing croquet in the afternoon.

Mayhem Manor had once known such a time. But all the Heyworths were gone n
ow…

Scurrying up the grand staircase to the third floor, Evie chose a bedroom she’d never stayed in before. Her own room, the one she lived in for most of the fifteen years since she’d come to the island, was being spruced up; new wallpaper, new curtains, the hardwood floor being refinished. Of course, if the house were sold, it wouldn’t be her room anymore.

She put that out of her head for now as she chose the last room at th
e end of the wide hallway. Hope
fully, with twenty bedrooms in the place, this one was as removed as possible from where Max Galloway would be sleeping.

Opening the massive mahogany armoire, she hung up her blue business suit and changed into jeans and a long-sleeve white top, then left the house and headed off toward the north end of the island, practically running in her haste to get to the barn.

Though she owned a small house in town where she lived during th
e school year, holidays and sum
mers had been spent at Mayhem with her “family,” doing what she loved best.

A smile on her lips, she topped the rise to gaze down at the old barn and the ancient, hand-hewn corrals that had stood for nearly a century.

The minute the gate creaked open, Fernando lifted his beautiful head and strolled over to greet her. Lorenzo appeared from behind the barn and sauntered up, followed closely by pregnant Lily. Soon all three llamas had gathered around her,
humming and smiling, filling her troubled heart with serenity and joy.

Fernando stared into her eyes and blinked slowly, his lashes long and silky, his lids perpetually drowsy. She tickled his nose.

“Hello, handsome.”

The llama responded by humming a bit louder and nudging her cheek with his forehead. Evie laughed and gently shoved him away.

“Okay you few, you happy few,” she said on a laugh. “It’s feeding time at the zoo, and this means you and you and
you
.
”
Fernando nudged her again, “Did you miss me?”

The llama continued to stare placidly at her.

“Not talking, huh,” she joked, then headed for the barn, stroking Fernando’s soft neck as he plodded along quietly beside her.

Inside the barn door, she opened the feed bin and lifted out a layer of alfalfa, setting it into the trough by the window. Glancing about, she looked for the oat bucket she usually left hanging on a nail next to the bins, and spotted it on a hook in front of one of the empty stalls on the other side of the barn.

“What in the world was on my mind when I hung it clear over there?
” Fernando nudged her ear. Lean
ing into him, she stroked his shaggy wool. “So impatient, my dear.”

She started for the bucket, when a board beneath her foot shifted. Startled, she paused. What on earth? Straw covered the planking, but as far as she could tell, the floor appeared as solid as ever.

Deciding the shift must have been her imagination, she stepped forward. Behind her, Fernando let loose with a rapid, pulsing squeal—a llama warning.

Evie spun toward the animal just as the floor beneath her feet gave way. It was as though the earth opened up to swallow her whole. She screamed and made a frantic grab with her hands for solid wood, but there was none.

She plunged downward, into darkness. Her body slammed into something hard, knocking the air from her lungs. Pain ricocheted through her shoulders and hips, and her head fell back, hitting solid rock.

Dazed, Evie lifted one hand to the back of her head and felt a thick stickiness. Groaning, she shifted position, but the incline was steep, the rocks slimy, and she began to slide. She flipped onto her stomach as she skidded several feet, slamming her jaw against the rock. The salty metal taste of blood filled her mouth. Clawing at the precipice, her nails bent and broke as she tried to get a handhold.

Panic swelled her throat nearly closed. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air seemed to have disappeared. Beneath her body the rocks were slick, her grip weak. She lost her grasp, her footing. Her body tumbled out of control until she finally hit bottom, crashing hard into the uneven floor of the cavern.

Cold water seeped into her clothes. She was panting, crying, her head ached, her muscles felt bruised and cramped. She caught the scent of muck and mold and blood. In the darkness, something skittered close by her head, and she forced herself to bite down on a scream.

Around her loomed vague shapes, suggestions of things.
Rocks, a wall maybe?
What was this? A well? A cavern
? An old basement of some kind?

Her teeth began to chatter. Her fingers, numb with cold, trembled as she tried to find a hold on the rock so she could sit up, maybe even stand.

A noise high above brought her head up. There, in the hole through which she’d fallen, was the muted outline of a shaggy head, fuzzy banana ears, and two luminous eyes blinking serenely down into the darkness.

“No!”
she choked, her voice thin and reedy. “Get away, Fernando. G
o. Go!” Tears stung as she envi
sioned the llama plunging to his death right before her very eyes.

“Fernando.
”
Fear and worry tightened her throat, forcing her voice to a whisper. “Go, sweetie,” she begged. “Get away from there,
please.
”

She closed her eyes, praying the llamas would stay far away from the hole in the barn floor. When she looked up again, Fernando was gone, and she was alone in the dark.

Chapter 2

Dear D
iary:

M
ommy
forgot my birthday. Mrs. B
urke brought cupca
k
s to
s
chool for the whole class! She's my teacher. And she
gav
e me this really really cool diary.
She says that somtimes it helps for people to rit
e things down when they are sad or lonely or
just
want to rebember stuff. She says when i bec
ome a g
rown up, i can look back and see how i was when i was little, and maybe understand things better,
i think she means my mom. i love Mrs. Burke. i think when i g
row up that i’m
gonna
be a teacher
just like her.

E
van
g
eline—a
g
e
9

“
I
can
…
do
this,” Evie panted to the rocks, as though she expected the
m to put up a fight. “Won’t…
quit.”

She’d emerged from the depths of unconsciousness to realize time had passed. How much, she couldn’t tell. She’d never fainted in her life, and the thought of lying in the muck, unaware of things going on around her, made her queasy. As it was, her head throbbed and her muscles ached like they’d been ripped from her bones. Her fingers were sticky from her own blood.

High above, the vaguely visible break in the floor remained thankfully empty. No shaggy head filled the space, no large eyes peered into the darkness. Intelligent creatures that they were, the llamas had probably moved away to safety and were clustered together, wondering when she was going to climb out of that stupid cavern and finish feeding them.

She attempted turning onto her knees, but her head pounded, forcing her to take things slowly.

“Stay awake,” she cautioned herself through labored breaths. “Stay awake. Don’t pass out. Stay awake
…
”

It took all her concentration, but at last she was able to turn onto he
r stomach. She felt like a mack
erel, soggy and smelly and flopping about.

With a bit more effort, she forced herself onto her knees and moved forward. Her hands shook. Her fingers were icicles, brittle, numb. Her whole body trembled from the exertion.

Forcing herself to concentrate, she moved up the rocky incline a few inches. Around her hovered ghostly shapes, suggestions of solid matter, but it was so dark, there could be ten people s
tanding be
hind her and she wouldn’t be able to see them.

The air smelled of rotten driftwood and stagnant
water. She raised her chin and tried to see the gray opening high overhead. It was distant and dim, but it gave her something to aim for.

Well, she thought, clamping her jaw tightly closed. Nowhere to go
…
but up.

Shoving her foot against the rock, she pushed herself along, edging her way back up the harsh incline. The dark was like a predator, intimidating, smothering, terrorizing. It was as tho
ugh she’d been en
closed in a tomb. Thank heaven for that jagged bit of gray above her head; without it, she might have gone insane.

Evie gave herself a mental shake.
Not going to think of that now. Just one hand in front of the other. One foot in front of the
other. I… can… do…
this.

She blinked and looked up again. Was it her imagination or had the ragged edges of the gap become more defined? Dear God, was it
daybreak
? Had she been down here all night?

A flash of light crossed the chasm.

“Here!” she shouted, or tried to, but it came out more like a dry croak. Swallowing, she tried again. “Be careful!”

“Miss Randall? Evie?” A deep voice. Young. Unfamiliar.

“I’m here!”

A beam of light slammed straight into her eyes. She blinked, closing her lids against the brightness. “Are you hurt?” he shouted.

She didn’t recognize his voice, but she didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t the Grim Reaper coming to take her away, she was thrilled to see him.

A second man called out. “Evangeline?” An older man, his voice blessedly familiar. She nearly burst with joy.

Edmunds? Thank God.
“I’m okay!”

“Stay where you are,” the first man shouted. “I’ll come down and get you.”

I
am so for that, she thought, feeling vaguely weary, as though she were a helium balloon that had sprung a leak and begun to crumple.

She closed her eyes. Whoever he was, he sounded
strong.
Certainly s
tronger than she felt at the mo
ment.

Light filled the opening once again, and she watched as a tall man with a flashlight in one hand edged his way through the broken boards to drop onto the rocks about fifteen feet above her head. He flattened his body on the incline and descended, hand over hand, until he was even with her.

Without prelude he said, “Anything broken?” She felt his breath on her cheek, warm, reassuring. Her rescuer. God, she was so cold.

“I d-don’t know,” she stumbled. “I don’t think tho.”

“You don’t think though?”

“Tho,” she repeated. “Eth, O. Tho.”

“Oh,” he drawled, suddenly comprehending. “So. You don’t think
s
0
.”

“Yeth.”

“You must have hit your mouth or bitten your tongue. Can’t say your S’s, right?”

“Yeth.” Ouch. She
had
bitten her tongue, and hard. She didn’t realize it had swollen until she’d begun to speak.

“Did you lose consciousness at any time?”

She nodded, which hurt like hell to do. “What time ith it?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Then I’ve been down here for about four hourth.”

“Four hours. You going to stay with me now?”

“I—I think tho. H
ow did you know I wath in trouble?”

“The llama came to the houth, er, house. The butler said that was unusual, so we started looking for you.”

Fernando had gone to the house? Like Lassie?
Evie’s fallen in a big hole underneath the barn and she can’t climb out!
Her throat closed against tears of joy and gratitude.

The man ran his flashlight up and down her body. “Are you bleeding anywhere or is that just from scratches?”

“No bleeding.”

The beam from Edmunds’s flashlight above them shone down on her rescuer, giving him a pale aura. She still couldn’t make out his features, but he had dark hair and a firm jaw.

“You’re a cool one under pressure,” he said, and she was sure she heard a smile in his voice.

“Would
you prefer I become hythterical
?” she challenged. “I gueth
I could manage a little hythte
ria after being trapped in the bowelth of the earth for hourth in total darkneth with only thlimy, crawly thingth to keep me company.”

“Jerry Springer and Geraldo are here?”

She waited a heartbeat. “You know, I’d laugh at
that, but it might kill me and then you’d have to drag my poor, dead carcath up these
rockth.
”

“I feel like I’m rescuing Daffy Duck. Maybe you shouldn’t talk. Give that tongue a retht.”

High overhead, Edmunds moved, shifting the beam of his flashlight, and for an instant her rescuer was illuminated.

Early thirties, clean features, impressive shoulders. Had she died sometime during the night and this was Gabriel escorting her to heaven? If so, she’d go.

“I’m going to touch you,” he advised her. “Just checking for broken bones. Okay?”

Touch her? He’d spoken with such authority, how could she deny him? “ ’Kay.”

She licked her lips, which hurt a whole hell of a lot. Was her mouth swelling up, too? She had a vague memory of her face slamming against a passing rock, and her stomach squeezed painfully.

Fighting nausea, she focused on her rescuer’s warm breath wafting against her cheek. She was certain she could hear the steady thudding of his stalwart heart. He’d climbed down here to help her. He wasn’t like her mother’s boyfriends, and she wasn’t a scared little girl anymore. She was a scared adult woman, but that was beside the point.

She lay still and let his hands rove over her body, ready to shove him away if he took advantage. But he kept the contact light and didn’t touch her anyplace or in any manner he shouldn’t. His hands were large and warm, and she was so cold. For an instant she wished he would wrap his strong arms around her, whoever he was.

“Nothing seems to be broken,” he said finally, “so here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to get behind you and help you up ahead of me. Can you do that?”

“I got thith far on my ow
n. I can crawl a few more feet.
”

There was silence for a moment. “You fell all the way to the bottom?”

“Yeth.”

He paused, sent the beam of his flashlight down into the darkness far below. “You weren’t by any chance a Girl Scout?”

“You want to thee me tie a theepthank?”

“A sheepshank?” He laughed. “A bowline would have been just as impressive, and doesn’t have any S’s in it.”

Then he was moving over her, careful not to press down on her body. Settling against her backside, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Oh my, he was so big and warm, and she was so terribly numb with cold. If he could just curl around her like that, she could go to sleep. That would feel like heaven.

But no sooner had she thought it than she felt him lift his other arm. Shining the flashlight ahead of them, he said, “Scoot, Scout.”

She reached out, pulling herself along as he pushed, keeping himself between her and the slide of rock that would take her back down to the floor of the cavern. Every muscle she owned screamed in protest, but she moved steadily upward until they were just below the floor.

When they reached the top of the rocks, he stood and brought her slowly to her feet. Her head began to spin, and she fell against him, grasping the sleeves of his shirt for support while she worked at not being sick.

“You doing okay, Scout?”

Her knees hurt as she carefully straightened them. She was weak, but she stayed upright.
And his arms. Oh, God, his arms
…

“Well,” she panted, “I’m not going back down there again.”

“Then let’s do it.”

As he put his hands on her waist and raised her toward the opening, she extended her arms, reaching up as Edmunds reached down. The old man clasped her under her arms, and with a strength she would not have believed he possessed, lifted her while her rescuer put his hands on her butt and pushed her up and through.

Edmunds quickly moved her to safety far away from the gaping chasm. A mere few seconds later the other man was beside them.

“Evangeline?” Edmunds choked as he took her hand in his. He was trembling more than she was. “Are you all right, my dear?”

She looked up at the butler’s face, all shadows and soft lines in the darkness of the barn. He was pale, his lips thin and bloodless. She had never seen him so frightened in the entire time she’d know him.

“I’m all right,” she whispered, barely able to get a breath. Suddenly, she felt as though she’d just scaled Everest. Her muscles turned to jelly, her bones dissolved, her teeth chattered so hard she sounded like a maraca.

“I have a little h-headache,” she stuttered, “b-but,
I
…
oh!”

She closed her eyes as strong arms lifted her. Him again. Warm and solid.

“Don’t
l
-let the Hamath fall in,” she pleaded.

In the distance Edmunds spoke, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She thought she heard the barn doors slam shut, and she relaxed, letting her lids drift down.

“Evie?” It was
his
voice, her rescuer, commanding, harsh. “Stay awake,” he ordered. “Stay with me now.”

“ ’Kay.” She nodded sleepily and made a valiant attempt to open her eyes. Slipping her arms around his neck, she pulled herself closer to his warmth. With her head on his shoulder, she tried to focus on how good he felt as opposed to how much she hurt.

“Evie? You still with me?” He had a great voice. Kind of raspy and soft, very masculine. She let herself melt against him and barely thought about her usual aversion to being touched.

“I’m okay,” she replied, not really certain she was, but she was alive and that was ninety-nine percent of the battle right there. “Thank you for rethcuing me.”

He must have lowered his head, because when he replied, she felt his breath against her brow and the bridge of her nose.

“It was my pleathure, ma’am.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Would I do that?”

She opened her eyes to see him looking intently at her. The line of his nose, limned by the amber light of the moon, was straight, his jaw square. She could see his mouth, firm lips, sort of curvy, like a Renaissance sculpture. The words
sensuous
and
succulent
slid into her head, and she did nothing to slide them out again.

He was gorgeous, and he’d saved her life, and she was being carried in his arms and he hadn’t rolled his eyes and made some joke about the strain on his back or anything. She felt her heart rate speed up a little more, and suddenly realized she didn’t know who he was.

A man like this would certainly have a good name, something as solid and heroic as he was. Eric or Alexander or Christopher or Nicholas. He would not have a name like Orville or Albert or Maurice or Uriah.

“I’m Evie Randall,” she said softly.